


An Exercise in Decorum

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Smut, Their one brain cell was definitely on vacation here, Top Crowley (Good Omens), just a couple of tipsy dumbasses, they would definitely be that couple, tipsy shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25414564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: The husbands plan a grand fancy date night out for their anniversary, but a bit (ok, a great deal) of champagne later and all they really want is each other. To their frustration, they just can’t seem to find a moment alone…
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 357
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library, Top Crowley Library





	An Exercise in Decorum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PWP one-shot companion to my series, [Love, and Other Ineffable Things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606)

* * *

It was a perfect evening for a night on the town, Crowley mused cheerfully, as he zoomed down the motorway. 

Today was a special day: their first ever wedding anniversary. Their first anniversary of any kind since they had left London for the Downs, so naturally they decided to make a posh night of it. They were all dressed up in their nicest clothes and on their way to dinner at some brand new five-star French place, because nothing said posh like food that you couldn’t pronounce. The March sky was clear and cloudless, the air wasn't nearly as cold as it had been yesterday, and the bright stars were already starting to come out. In short, everything was perfectly aligned for a classy night of fine dining and high romance. 

He snuck an admiring glance towards the Bentley's passenger seat, at the tantalising object of that romance. Aziraphale sat with chin raised and hands folded in his lap, a smug smile playing about his mouth. He wore a new brocade waistcoat for the occasion, and a blue bow tie to match Crowley’s own dark blue suit. Gold cuff links winked at his wrists. The clothes suited him. Everything suited him. Breathing suited him. Dammit. It was completely unfair for him to look so good and then insist they go out in public, where they had to mind themselves. Crowley pursed his lips and stifled a hiccup. 

Aziraphale turned and beamed cheerily at him, blue eyes scrunching at the corners, and Crowley felt his jaw go slack. So. Intoxicatingly. Beautiful. Almost as intoxicating as the bottle (or so) of champagne they had put away right before leaving. It was _supposed_ to be a simple toast, just a bit of pre-celebration. By the time they finally finished toasting and tumbled giggling into the car, everything seemed just a little topsy turvy. No matter. His trusty Bentley did much of the driving for him after all these years, leaving him free to relax and enjoy himself.

Crowley’s head was full of sparkling bubbles, the world around him cushioned in a happy fizzy cloud, and he couldn't stop grinning. He was about to go eat a fantastic dinner with the most beautiful creature in the universe, who was sitting right there next to him with a possessive hand resting scandalously high on his leg. The angel’s soft thumb kept rubbing the side of his thigh, sending little jolts through his groin and scattering his already-scattered concentration to the winds. 

Crowley sighed contentedly to himself, and pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. Oh yeah. It really was shaping up to be a great evening.

The drive passed in a pleasant blur, and before he knew it they were strolling cheerfully up to the restaurant, a large elegant brick building, with arms tight around each other. Crowley had one hand up under Aziraphale’s waistcoat, and he kept toying with the braces fastened at his waist. He had helped him put them on earlier…right after watching him put on his trousers. God, he was beautiful. On mad impulse he ducked in and stole a quick kiss, grinning as the angel’s step faltered.

“ _Behave_ ,” Aziraphale said sternly, and cast him a sidelong glance from under his eyelashes. A second later he stopped, yanked him down by the necktie and kissed him, too, with tongue, and Crowley thought he might simply fall over right there in the car park. His better judgment abandoned him in a flood of champagne bubbles, and he threw his arms around him and kissed him back. Fuck, but he was so soft and warm, and he tasted magnificent, and what were they even doing out here again? Maybe he should just drag him back home and-

A lady passing by cleared her throat significantly, and they broke guiltily apart.

Bloody busybodies. Crowley glared at her back and cleared his own throat extra loudly after her, just to make a point. He briefly considered giving her something _truly_ uncomfortable to worry about.

Aziraphale took his hand. “Shall we, my dear?” He straightened Crowley’s tie and pressed a kiss to his cheek that would have been quite chaste, had he not paired it with a subtle squeeze on the back of his blue trousers. Any subtlety was lost completely as Crowley reacted with a very loud, startled hiccup.

They managed to make their way to the host stand and check in without further incident, and if Aziraphale’s cheeks were a bit flushed it wasn’t enough to make anyone look askance. He was much better at concealing when he was tipsy, Crowley reflected. He looked so proper and restrained that it was hard to imagine him up to any mischief, not unless you knew him well.

Crowley eyed him, and felt his mouth curve into a smirk. He knew him _very_ well indeed. 

As luck would have it, they were a good half-hour early for their reservation. “Perhaps a drink at the bar while we wait?” Aziraphale suggested. He took him by the hand with the private smile that always turned his legs to jelly, and led him unresisting away. Crowley floated happily along in his wake, past white tablecloths and elegantly dressed diners, admiring the way the angel’s arse moved in his expensive trousers and trying to hide how inconveniently hard he was. He was, without a doubt, the luckiest person on the planet. He would get to stare at Aziraphale all through dinner, and then afterwards he could take him home and stare at him some more. Preferably without all these pesky clothes…

He was so lost in pleasant fantasies that it took him a while to notice that they were nowhere near the bar. He looked around, blinking muzzily. They weren’t in the main restaurant anymore at all, but in some kind of deserted back hallway area, near the lavatories. “Uh, angel, I think the bar is back that w-”

“Hush.” Aziraphale tugged him close by the jacket with both hands and an eager smile. “Not a word,” he breathed, and kissed him. He put a finger on his lips, then tilted his hips forward, carefully, until they were pressing against each other.

Crowley’s entire body responded with such rampant enthusiasm that he momentarily forgot where he was. Blood thundered south in a dizzying rush, and the bubbles in his head spun round like a tilt-a-whirl. “It’s like that, is it?” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around him and pinned him against the wall with a thump, and Aziraphale made a tiny surprised sound as the breath was squashed out of him. “Shocking behavior for a Principality,” Crowley murmured. “Truly _shocking_.” He kissed his throat and slid his hands over the soft waist and chest, down his sides. It felt so good. So incredibly good. “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he panted. “You're just so…” He groped for the right word, but couldn’t think of one, so contented himself with groping Aziraphale instead, running his hands all the way down and around to grip his plush backside, squeezing with his fingers. There was not enough time or privacy to remove anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t _touch_. He pulled him close and began slowly grinding against him, careful to keep his breathing soft.

“Wicked thing.” Aziraphale let out a kind of slow gasp and slid his arms around his neck. "Wily serpent." He tilted his chin up and kissed him on the mouth, slowly, and this time there was no one to interrupt. Voices rose and fell and laughed, crystal stemware clinked, all the sounds of polite human society only yards away, and together they shared the breathless, delicious secret that they were not being polite at all.

Sudden footsteps echoed down the hall towards them. They quickly jerked apart and leaned against the wall, trying to look casual as a man passed by on his way to said lavatories. He shot them a curious look but didn’t comment. 

_Close one._ Crowley exchanged a conspiratorial look with Aziraphale, then took his hand and pulled him along towards the end of the hallway.

He rounded the corner to find a suitably deserted dead-end that had only an open storage closet and some spare stacks of chairs. Good enough. They would be thoroughly out of sight here, at least. “C’mere.” He slid his arms around Aziraphale’s waist from behind and pushed him up against the wall. He buried his face in his neck and inhaled slowly, breathing him in. Mmm, he’d worn that cologne he liked so much, the stuff that smelled like spices.

“You smell amazing,” Crowley whispered, and pressed his own extended groin against the soft back of him. He moaned, and pressed a little harder. “Oh. Oh shit, angel. You feel amazing, too.” He reached around with one hand and was gratified to find the obvious, rock hard evidence that the angel was enjoying himself. He squeezed, and this time Aziraphale was the one to moan.

“Shhhh.” Crowley wrapped an arm around his shoulders, grinning, and whispered in his ear. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hear, right?” He nipped the ear and leaned in a little closer against him. “Try to keep quiet,” he breathed. He started rubbing him, steadily but excruciatingly slowly. “Do you like that? Do you want me to stop?”

“Just... hush.” Aziraphale’s palms were flat against the wall, forehead nearly touching it. “Be quiet and touch me.”

Crowley rubbed that bulge a little faster, gripping at him with his hand, smoothing his palm up and down. “Mmm. I am touching you. You feel good.” He kissed his neck and just kept stroking, murmuring in his ear. “I’m going to make you feel _very_ good, right here and now. Then we’ll go have dinner, hm? You won’t even need to muss your nice clothes.”

“But I want you to muss my clothes,” Aziraphale whispered, eyes firmly shut. He reached down and unbuckled his own belt. An invitation.

Heart pounding, Crowley accepted. He unfastened the button of the trousers one-handed, then the zipper; it gave easily, eagerly under his fingers. “That’s better,” he murmured. “Bit more comfortable, hm?” He slid a hand back up a little, to the waist of the trousers, and slowly slipped it down into his underwear. He ran his tongue over the soft skin behind his ear as he took hold of him, wrapping his fingers around his firm, warm length.

“Shhh, shhhh,” he whispered, as Aziraphale made a guttural sound. “Shhhh.” He put his other hand gently over his husband’s mouth, and the angel subsided into heavy panting through his nose. “There you go. Nice and quiet. No one has to know.” He kissed his neck and began pulling in a steady rhythm, adding a small drop of lubricant with a twist of thought. He knew this wouldn’t take long. The biggest challenge would be keeping him quiet.

There were abruptly voices- loud ones, nearly right on top of them.

“Shit.” Crowley yanked his hand free and dragged the hapless angel into the supply closet, just in time. A split second later two laughing waiters, the kind wearing dinner jackets and white gloves, walked right into the nook they had just occupied. They stood there chatting about inane human things as they stacked up a couple of the chairs, presumably to take back into the dining room. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._

They stood there frozen, just out of sight of the open door and squashed uncomfortably flat against the wall together, trying not to breathe too loudly. The waiters finally took their stupid chairs and left.

Crowley felt Aziraphale shuddering underneath him and realized that he was silently giggling, eyes shut tight and cheek flattened to the wallpaper. He stifled a snort too as the absurdity of the situation hit him. “Un-fucking-believable,” he hissed. He was swiftly growing rather desperate. Three interruptions tonight was three too many, and his patience was worn razor-thin. “Shall we give them something to be shocked by?”

“There’s a private dining room. I saw a sign earlier.” Aziraphale twisted around and zipped his trousers back up, and carefully buttoned his jacket over his peaked front. He didn’t bother re-buckling his belt. “Come on, darling.” His bow tie was askew, but he didn’t seem to notice. He had that gleam in his eye now, the determined gleam that said he was going to get what he wanted come hell or high water, and Crowley for one was equally set on giving it to him.

The angel took him by the wrist and dragged him away. They stumbled out of the hall and through the dining room as calmly as they could, still snickering, both slightly bow-legged for all the obvious reasons, moving with the singleminded determination of the very tipsy and horny.

The private room in question was on the far end of the building, set a little apart from the rest of the place- a large and even more elegantly appointed room set with long tables, the kind of thing you would reserve for a party or wedding. It was mercifully empty of anyone either inside or out, and they managed to slip inside unnoticed. 

“Alone at last.” Crowley quickly shut the single door behind them and turned the bolt home, then whipped around and scooped Aziraphale into his arms. All his; he finally was all his, and he didn’t have to hold back…

Aziraphale certainly wasn’t holding back. His hands and lips were on him, hot and frantic, making him feel even drunker than he was. Crowley kissed him as passionately as he knew how, then let go and dropped directly to his knees, yanking at the buckle on Aziraphale’s belt, pulling it off and flinging it away. He hastily unzipped the trousers and pulled down his underwear. Impatient as he was, he didn’t even bother teasing him. No warm licks up his inner leg, no slow kisses. He _needed_ to get him into his mouth, right now, and he did so with a final pull of his hands against his thighs.

Aziraphale gasped and nearly fell over backwards; he staggered back a couple steps until his back hit the nearest wall, and just stood there with his head tilted back and eyes closed. Crowley moved with him on his knees, keeping his grip on his hips and mouth firmly around him. He was beautiful and warm and hard. So very, very hard _._ Crowley let out a small moan and pushed him deeper in. Finally. _Finally._ Aziraphale moaned too and clapped a hand over his own mouth. As excited as he was, it would only be a matter of minutes before he would feel him-

Behind him, the doorknob rattled. It shook a few times, then there was the unmistakable sound of jingling metal and the _snick_ of a key being inserted into a lock.

“Lord Almighty,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley snarled, and somehow managed to swear with his mouth full. He pulled away and pointed a finger at the door, intending to blast whoever it was, but a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. Instead he miracled the door to hold shut, just to give them a minute. 

“Bloody fucking _hell_. Is there _nowhere_ private in this entire damned place?” Even as he asked the question the answer presented itself, and he looked up at him from his knees, wide-eyed.

“The Bentley,” Aziraphale panted.

“Yes! Ha!” Crowley zipped him back up and leapt to his feet, grabbed his hand and towed him towards the now-vigorously-rattling door. They burst out of the room, right past the extremely startled and confused staff member, hurrying down the hall with rumpled clothes and hair (and in Aziraphale’s case, quite beltless), past the bemused-looking hostesses and out the swinging double doors. They made straight for the car park, easily picking out the Bentley among the sleek modern vehicles.

No keys were necessary. He miracled open the lock with an impatient hiss, pushed Aziraphale into the back seat, and slammed the car door shut behind them with vicious satisfaction. Another snap of his fingers re-locked the doors and darkened the windows. “Let’s see someone barge in _now_. Nosy bastards.”

Aziraphale was wasting no time- he had already managed to remove one shoe and pull one trouser leg off. He didn’t take his eyes off him as he did, and from the burning look on his face it was clear that a simple blowjob was no longer going to cut it. The feeling was absolutely mutual. 

Crowley unbuckled his own trousers and managed to barely get them off his hips before Aziraphale seized him by the tie and yanked him forward. “Come here.”

Crowley fell atop him, narrowly avoiding braining himself on the opposite window. “I’m right here, my angel. I’m all yours now,” he whispered, and kissed him. Then he was kneeling between his thighs, lifting him by the hips, miracling some lubricant and pushing himself inside him with a helpless groan. “Oh fuck. Oh my God.” The dam of restraint buckled, and shattered, and then he was finally making vigorous love to him, moaning with every thrust and doing his absolute best to rock his world.

Aziraphale’s stomach and chest were marshmallow soft yet solid under his clutching hands, the brocade waistcoat crumpled and shoved up for better access. Crowley growled and tore open the shirt collar as well to bite at his neck. The angel gasped and clenched fistfuls of the blue suit, and pressed one shoeless foot to the roof of the car to anchor himself. 

The sounds he was making were enough to make Crowley's toes curl; he drank in each moan and cry like a fresh sip of burning alcohol on a parched tongue. It spun his head round harder than the champagne ever had. He moaned too, and braced a hand against the window to hold himself steady as he thrust. “Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered. “Mmmh. No need to be quiet now, angel, let me hear you _moan_.”

Aziraphale obliged, letting himself go with an uncomplicated, almost innocent level of pure enjoyment that was bloody incredible to watch. Blond head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted as he moaned in uninhibited delight.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop, please....”

“Don’t worry,” Crowley panted, and thrust a little faster, straining his control to the limit. “I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop.”

The entire vehicle was rocking back and forth, their mingled exclamations were loud enough to echo in the enclosed space; they were surely making a spectacle of themselves right there in the car park, but Crowley didn’t care. They couldn’t _technically_ be seen, and that was privacy aplenty for his tastes. He was finally, finally getting to indulge his angel the way he deserved, and he was not about to shush him. All he had wanted to do was give his husband a quick bit of discreet pleasure before dinner, but people just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could they? It was the humans’ own damn fault if they could hear them now. He was done with attempts at discretion; that barrel had been scraped dry.

One of Aziraphale’s hands was suddenly tangled in his hair, pulling him in closer against him. “I want to feel you finish in me,” he whispered.

“I will,” Crowley assured him, and kissed his mouth. “I promise. Just as soon as you _come_.”

The last word was a groan that he punctuated with a deep thrust of his hips, and was rewarded with a fresh gasp. He shifted his angle just a bit, and knew he’d hit the right spot when Aziraphale threw his head back and cried out.

“Now! Please, I want to feel you _now_.”

He couldn’t refuse, not when he asked like that, not when he wanted nothing more in the whole world.

“Okay.” He put one foot on the car floor for leverage; with a groan he pushed forward in quick, hard thrusts, over and over. “I’m so- close, nearly there,” he gasped, and thrust faster, indulging, focusing on his own pleasure. And what a pleasure it was; no other earthly pleasure compared. He couldn’t help but make little undignified sounds with each push. The leather seats were creaking, the entire car was shaking, they were both sweating profusely in the enclosed space; his damp palm was sliding across the car window- it was going to be a spectacular mess in here by the end, but he couldn’t care less. He took his husband harder, faster, and felt the first twitches deep inside that signaled loss of control. “Oh fuck angel, I’m gonna come. That what you want?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, oh yes, _yes...”_ His shoulders hunched, then he was finally coming, and it was every bit as good as he’d imagined. “ _Yes yes yes…”_ He groaned and held tight to his perfect, soft hips, grinding in, relishing the feel of him under his hands and tight around his sex. Beneath him, Aziraphale made a sound that was nearly a keen.

He was staring right into Aziraphale’s face when the angel orgasmed, saw his eyes squeeze shut, felt him pulse, and _that_ felt nearly as good as doing it himself. It was like coming twice at once, and it only made him come harder. “Oh fuck _, yes_.” He quickly kissed him, tasting him, then all was groaning and clenching hands and thrashing limbs. 

They both finally spent themselves and collapsed into a heap, tangled together and panting. The air in the car was muggy and stifling hot. 

Aziraphale let his raised leg drop limply to one side, and heaved out a huge, satisfied sigh. “Happy Anniversary, love,” he said at last, with a dazed smile. He blinked up at him, and his eyes widened as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Good Lord. You’re a bit of a mess.”

“Look who’s talking.” Crowley chuckled and wiped sweat off the angel’s soaked forehead. His fancy clothes were disheveled and noticeably stained; his pale hair curled damply at the temples. There was a visible, slowly darkening bite mark on his neck where Crowley had got carried away. That wouldn’t do at all. He kissed it, gently so as not to hurt him, and watched the bruise fade to nothing. 

“Mm. Next time it might be more practical to do this _before_ we leave the house,” Aziraphale commented. He wrapped his arms around him with another sigh.

“Practicality is overrated. And it wasn’t my fault.” Crowley kept kissing his neck, following the opened shirt down to his chest, and slid his hands back up under the waistcoat. “ _You_ started it.” 

"Hmph. I suppose I did." The angel sounded far more smug than contrite. He pursed his lips. “Dare we go inside again for dinner? I’m actually quite hungry now, and I imagine our table is ready.” 

“I’m sure it is. But _you_ are hardly ready to be seen like this.” Crowley grinned and bit him again, playfully this time. 

“Well that’s- ha, stop that- it’s nothing a miracle can’t fix. We’ll just have to put ourselves to rights. Here, help me up.” Aziraphale struggled upright on the leather seat, with much flailing and Crowley’s assistance, and they blearily assessed each other. 

”Perhaps _several_ miracles,” Aziraphale amended dubiously, after a rather shocked silence. 

“Well, we’d better get started then. Wouldn’t want to miss that reservation.” Crowley rolled his eyes and began yanking his trousers back up. “Simply unacceptable behaviour, that.” 

“Quite right,” Aziraphale replied, very prim, and banished the sweat stains with a snap of his fingers. “People might start to think we have no standards at all.”


End file.
